


Ebbs and Waves

by nuricurry



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Character Analysis, Character Death, Gen, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-12 22:32:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15350184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nuricurry/pseuds/nuricurry
Summary: "Lay me down, let the only sound be the overflow"Grief is a strange, unpredictable thing.





	Ebbs and Waves

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gravy_tape](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gravy_tape/gifts).



Grief is a strange, unpredictable thing. It comes in waves, some that just tickle the tips of your toes, and remind you that it’s still there, and then there are ones that swell and rise up to wash over you, knocking you down and throwing your body out into the deep, dark depths of emotion.  
  
Noctis has experienced both ends and all the variances in between.

It’s when he’s at a restaurant with the guys, his body pleasantly sore from a good, successful hunt, and shoveling forkfuls of something warm and full of carbs into his mouth when he hears a small voice from the other side of the diner. A child pipes up with an excited cry of, “Dad!” and that causes one of those waves to hit.  
  
He hears his own voice-- his voice from ten, maybe even fifteen years ago-- crying out in excitement as the door to the throne room is opened, and he is at last free to wiggle off the uncomfortable bench he had been instructed to sit on for the past hour. He rushes forward, arms outstretched, wanting to embrace his father around his knees, but as Regis looks down at him, the mouth beneath his graying beard turned down at the corners, and his eyes lowered and sad, Noctis stops dead in his tracks and doesn’t complete the motion. Regis seems to notice he was there a second too late to prevent the shift, and by the time he reaches out to invite Noctis closer, the moment has already passed. Noctis moves away, turning around on his heel and running in the opposite direction.  
  
The memory makes the food turn to sawdust in his mouth, and he completely loses his appetite. Putting his fork down on the table, and picking up his phone instead, he tries to distract himself with checking for messages from Cindy, or Dino, or anyone, something he can give his attention to, and avoid the tightening feeling he has low in his belly. Gladio notices him on his phone first, and he makes a crack about kids being 'addicted to their phones’, which makes Prompto defend Noct’s honor, but he hardly hears them, as he squints harder at the screen, moving on from messages to simply scanning his photo albums, trying to uncover one thing that will make this all go away. Usually he has some stupid candid from Prompto to laugh at, like Gladio spitting out a bug that flew into his mouth while he was sleeping in the car, or Umbra doing some sort of trick that no normal dog should do, but as his thumb flicks through the roll of photos, all his movements suddenly stop, and he feels his breath catch.

A picture Noctis had taken of his father, months ago, from a concealed perch of a high window in the citadel, spying on the man from afar as he spoke with Cor on the front steps. He had actually been aiming for a picture of Cor, to send to Prompto, due to the fact that he had been wearing a beat-up leather jacket that Noctis had never seen on him before, but Regis was of course in the photo as well, and, as Noctis looks down at it, something hard and heavy finds it’s way into his stomach.

The tip of his nose burns with the urge to shed tears, but Noctis resists. However, a sniff still escapes, and he pushes his hands against his face, hiding it behind his palms.

“Whoa, hey, everything alright there Noct?” Prompto notices his change in demeanor first, “Did you try that chile sauce too? I told you, Gladio’s gotta be part daemon, able to handle that so easily.”

It’s an excuse, an out that Prompto provides him, and Noct simply nods his head, more willing to agree with that, than to confess anything else. Because if he admits it, then he might have to talk about it, and he isn’t ready for that.

He doesn’t know if he ever will be.

* * *

There was a day that started out simple enough, easily enough, with no thoughts about sorrow and tragedy. At least, not beyond the general acknowledgment he had to make now every time he got up that his home is in ruins, his father is dead, and everything else in his life is slowly coming apart. But that day started with only a brief pause for that train of thought before he was distracted with something else, and he was able to throw himself into a variety of things, all of them occupying his mind for the time being.

It actually seemed to be too easy, for some reason. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something seemed off, as if he knew something wasn’t quite adding up, but, he also didn’t want to push the issue, because if he had learned anything on this trip, it was sometimes it was just better to let things go while he could. He had pushed any worried thoughts out of his mind well enough that when the sky suddenly went dark around him, and he felt his body begin to fall, he wasn’t quite ready for it, and his stomach dropped hard enough to jar him awake, and he sat up in bed with a start.

There had been no good day at all, he realized, as his heart pounded in his chest; there was no more ‘good days’ anymore, because as he turned his head, he saw beside him on the nightstand his father’s ring, resting on top of the journal he shared with Luna; relics of two people who he would never see again.

The others gave him a suite all to himself-- probably because, for a while, there were so many medical professionals coming in and out while he was unconscious that it was just easier that way-- but now, he hates it, because it means he’s alone with no one and nothing else to distract him. All he has is his thoughts, and they torment him.

“Why...why did it have to happen like this?” he asks the empty room. Hollowness, from within him, and around him, is the only reply.

His hands fist in the sheets, and he doesn’t realize he’s begun to cry until the tears are already dripping from his chin and staining his shirt.

“I thought...I was supposed to know you were here...” His voice is angry, bitter, and the more he speaks, the louder it gets. “I thought…I was supposed to feel you, here, beside me, Luna!”

But there is nothing. Her warmth left him long ago. It soaked into the stone of the altar and was left there, while he was pulled away, and brought here. Without her. With only the memory of her, left in pieces on his bedside table.

He takes the ring from the nightstand and throws it, hard enough that it makes an audible sound as it hits the far wall. When that isn’t enough, the book is next, and then a lamp follows it, shattering upon impact. At last, it’s his pillow, for lack of anything left to throw, and with that gone, he sits on his bed, and screams.

He screams until there is nothing left, until his throat is raw and his mouth is dry. The door opened some time ago and with a glance in that direction, he sees that Gladio stands in the far corner of the room, arms crossed, and his face hidden by shadow. When Noctis finally falls back against the mattress, exhausted, he steps forward, and, upon taking in the sight of the mess that he made, spares him a sidelong glance. Noctis doesn’t have it in him to care; he simply allows his eyes to close, as he tries to calm his breathing.

After a few moments, he feels Gladio approach the bed, but he continues to say nothing. Instead, he places something down on the nightstand, and after he’s moved away, walking into the next room, Noctis opens his eyes and turns his head to see what it was. The diary and ring are replaced, and Noctis has to close his eyes and roll over before grief fully takes hold of him once again.

 

* * *

The hour is late, and he's underneath the covers on the bed he's sharing with Prompto, the other’s back pressed against his. He has been trying to fall asleep for hours, but rest eluded him, and instead, he's taken to counting the bumps of Prompto’s spine that he felt digging into his own. He had just finished, and was restarting again (for the fourth time) when he hears shuffling and movement from the other side of the room. It was not the heavy, purposeful stride of Gladio, which Noctis has grown used to hearing at odd hours of the night. Especially lately. Gladio had taken to pacing the past few months because it seemed as if he was struggling with being able to sleep too. Sometimes he just stomped around for a few hours until Ignis finally instructed him to lie down, but once or twice, he had gone and yanked Noctis out of bed, typically to yell at him, admonishing him for sleeping despite the fact that it was two in the morning and no one else was awake either.

Those footsteps were not of Gladio, and though Noctis already knows who they belong to, when he hears them falter, and the thud of a foot colliding with a piece of furniture in the room, he feels his stomach twist and he clenches his hand into a fist, regret and guilt swelling in his gut.

“Iggy, what are you doing?” Gladio’s voice grumbles from the other bed, low and rough with sleep. Ignis had always been a light sleeper, but since Altissia, Gladio seems to have joined him in that regard, jerking awake at any movement or noise.

“Finding my way to the bathroom. I still have most normal bodily functions, you know,” is the quipped reply, Ignis attempting his typical dry humor, but a touch of moodiness still slips inside.

“If you asked me, I’d help you,” Gladio says, and Noctis hears him sitting up, and so he closes his eyes to feign sleep, before he’s caught. “Here, just give me--”

“It’s less than twenty feet Gladio. I can easily navigate myself that far without trouble. I don’t need a spotter to use the restroom,” Ignis rejects the offer immediately, then adds, “I’m blind, not an idiot.”

It’s the first time that Noctis had ever heard Ignis say those words so blatantly. It's the first time he's ever properly addressed his condition, the first time he hasn’t spoken of it as something that could be undone, something that could be fixed. _‘I’m blind,’_ he says, and that’s all there is to it.

Apparently Gladio is as shocked as Noctis is because he’s silent, and Ignis continues to move unassisted, bumping once into the foot of Noctis’ bed, jostling it slightly, and earning a quiet, “Apologizes, Noct,” from Ignis as he walks by. Noctis’ eyes open at that, and he sits up just as the door closes behind Ignis, and then, he shifts his attention over towards Gladio.

“...Shit,” Gladio hisses under his breath, as his face darkens. He spins on his heel, only grabbing his jacket as he storms out of the motel door, slamming it hard enough that it startles Prompto awake, resulting in him tumbling off the bed.

“Whuh? W-What’s happening? What’s wrong?” he asks, squinting in the low, hazy light that comes from the neon sign outside. Noctis doesn’t even have the energy to say a simple reply of, _‘everything.’_  
  


* * *

Sometimes, Noctis feels as if he’s drowning.

His throat feels tight, strangled, as if someone had their hands around it and was clutching it in a vise, forcing him to struggle and fight for air. But, the air wouldn’t come. Instead, what came were flashes of blue, a field of flowers that almost looked like the sea, swaying and empty and deep, but, he knew what they were, and what they signified.

_I just wanted to save you._

How many times had he screamed that, from the top of his lungs, and the bottom of his heart, into that blue awning abyss? How many times had nothing but the crashing of waves and the cry of the Leviathan answered him back?

The first time he wakes up after that dream, it's to Ignis shaking him, and his voice hushed but insistent. Noctis blearily opens his eyes, unable to focus for several moments, but once Ignis senses that he's awake, he lets out a deep sigh. “Noctis,” he says, as his hold shifts from his shoulders to his wrists. It was only with that movement that Noctis realizes his own hands were around his throat, and his nails had dug in, leaving painful scratches along the length of his neck.

Gently, carefully, Ignis pulls his hands away, though he doesn’t let them go, and Noctis is grateful for it. Somehow, the hold grounds him, it cements him to reality, even if reality is painful and unpleasant.

He can only make out a few things, but the thing he sees most easily, due to their proximity, is the scar that is torn across Ignis’ face.

Everyone has given up something for him. Everyone close to him has been hurt, in one way or another. How much more will he have to take from them?

“Sorry,” he mumbles, “just a bad dream. You can go back to sleep.”

But Ignis doesn’t leave. He continues holding onto Noct, and though he knows that the older man’s eyes can no longer see, he seems to be focusing on Noctis’ face, as if he’s studying him, without the use of his sight.

“Please, Noctis, don’t hurt yourself,” Ignis finally says after some time, and his voice comes off so raw that it takes Noctis completely by surprise. “Those who care about you don’t wish to see you like that.”

His words are so vulnerable, so open, that Noctis can’t find his own in order to respond. Ignis speaks up again, a few beats later, apparently having sensed that he left the other speechless.  
  
“I don’t know what I would do if something were to happen to you.”

It’s at that moment that Noctis’ mouth finally seems to remember how to work, as he responds with a soft, “Probably be better off.”

Ignis’ brows furrow and his mouth tightens into a frown. His expression wavers, shifting between frustrated and hurt, and it leaves Noctis breathless for a moment, before Ignis gradually pulls away, allowing Noctis to remain where he is.

“Then I have failed you as your advisor if you truly believe that,” he says, before he shifts back onto his own sleeping bag, and lies down with his back to Noct.  
  


* * *

Once upon a time, he would have thought it strange how sleeping in a tent with three other men feels like home.

They’re all bigger than they were ten years ago, all broader or longer or just weightier than they were at the start of their journey, but that doesn’t prevent old habits from dying hard. Prompto's completely turned around from the others, with his feet shoved beneath Gladio’s thighs for warmth, and he’s lying perpendicular to everyone else so his pillow can be propped up on Noctis’ lap. Ignis sleeps straight and stiff as a board like always, stirring at the slightest movement, but he keeps his back against Noctis’, firm and familiar and protective, defensive even at his most vulnerable. Noctis lies awake for hours, not saying anything, not moving, because if he breaks the spell then that means the night will end, and with it, goes the last remnant of _this_ , of home and happiness, and he isn’t ready for that.

For the first time, in a very, very long time, he doesn’t grieve a loss. Now, he grieves what will never be.

The past is full of memories, most good, and some bad. Memories are what sustains him now, the happiness and comfort that comes with jokes and stories and laughter reminding him of the bonds he made, and the joys he shared. Once, he mourned the past, because he wished he could go back and change it, and make things different for now, for the present.

That night, Noctis mourns the loss of the future, for the things he will no longer have. There will not be any more stories, no new adventures. Everything, it’ll end, and he hasn’t had his fill of what he knows he must leave behind. No more nights in tents, no more pictures, no more meals over fires and chances to learn and grow and see what comes next. There will be days he never sees, lives continuing without him in them.

He wonders if his father and Luna mourned those same things, the way he is now.

The tears fall silently down his face as he looks up at the top of the tent, before at last, he closes his eyes, and relishes in the night that will end all too soon.


End file.
